Bittersweet
by DancerGirl136
Summary: Michael struggles with Nate's death and his fears surrounding Fiona's release from prison. Missing/extended scenes from 6x07 and 6x08.


_So I've been writing loads of Burn Notice fanfiction lately, almost every episode has the potential for further Michael and Fi moments. I've tried hard to get their voices right, but I'm still getting used to writing for these characters, so constructive criticism is welcome. _

_The first scene is set in in 6x07, the night that Fi gets home from prison. The second scene extends on from 6x08. The dialogue you recognise from this scene obviously does not belong to me; it is property of the writers. Hope you enjoy! _

Moonlight streamed in through the balcony door, bathing the loft in a soft glow. The two occupants of the bed were huddled together, although only one of them was awake.

Michael didn't think he'd ever sleep again. Every time he closed his eyes he saw Nate's face, spattered with blood. Today was supposed to be a happy day, and it had quickly turned into a nightmare. His heart ached with the loss of his brother, although he was still partially in denial. The presence of his girlfriend nestled into his side was dulling the ache slightly, but also providing him with a new sense of pain. Today should have been filled with joy. Having Fiona back in his arms was all he'd been able to think of for weeks. She had consumed his every thought, and every action he'd made had been with the purpose of getting her out. Their joyful reunion had been marred by loss, and as much as Michael was grieving for Nate, he was also sad for Fiona. She deserved everything and more, a fancy dinner at the very least, not a distraught boyfriend who had jumped straight into searching for a killer. He'd asked her earlier that day if she ever thought she deserved better. He'd truly meant those words; sometimes he couldn't believe she was still with him after everything he'd put her through. Her simple but firm words had reassured him, but there was still a lingering feeling of doubt in the pit of his stomach.

He glanced down at her form that rested against his chest, her face relaxed in slumber. She looked so young, almost as she did all those years ago in Ireland. His heart tightened as he took in her small frame, which had withered even more since her incarceration. The stress he knew she'd been put through weighed even more on his conscience. She didn't deserve any of the pain she had suffered by protecting him.

Not only did he feel immense guilt for what she had been put through, his worry levels were beginning to take control of his sanity. Anson was dead and that should've been the end of it, but someone was willing to kill Nate, so they'd certainly be willing to target Fiona. Michael had nearly lost himself without her. He was someone who had been trained not to show his emotions, but his feelings had taken control many times in her absence. Sam had witnessed the worst of it; threatening his best friend at gunpoint had not been one of Michael's finest moments. And the kitchen bench had certainly taken a beating.

Michael stroked Fi's cheek gently and ran his fingers through her hair, revelling in the fact that she was here with him. He knew he couldn't lose her again; the last few months had been almost unbearable without her. Having to come back every night to the home they shared, without her, where her presence was so evident had been torture. He'd always had a protective nature when it came to her, even when they weren't officially together, but that instinct of his had only grown over the last few years. He knew she was more than capable of taking care of herself, but even his faith in her abilities wasn't enough to banish the paranoia that seemed to grow larger with every minute. He refused to let anything happen to her again.

Michael was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't realise Fi stirring against him until her lilting voice caught his attention.

"Michael?" The Irish in her voice was more pronounced under her tiredness.

"Hey," he murmured back. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. Go back to sleep." He felt terrible rousing her from the first good rest he was sure she'd had in months.

Fiona tilted her head up to meet his eyes, and her heart broke when she saw the heartache within.

"It's ok." She murmured. "It's much nicer waking up in the middle of the night here anyway."

Michael's arms tightened around her as her words hung between them.

"I missed you, Michael."

Her soft admission caused a mist of moisture to rise in his eyes, and he squeezed them shut to prevent her noticing.

"I missed you too." He whispered back. He'd already told her earlier that day, but she deserved to hear it again. He wanted to tell her just how much he'd missed her, how he'd barely functioned without her, but words had never been his strong suit. He settled for pressing a kiss into her hair, trying to compose himself.

Fiona's heart sank when she realised just how much he was struggling. She knew Michael so well, and while he was usually so stoic, his feelings were currently written all over his face. She knew the pain of losing a sibling all too well, but to see the man she loved experience it was just as hard.

She reached up to cup his face with her palm, stroking her thumb over his cheek.

"I know you miss him." She whispered. "We're going to find the son of a bitch who did this."

Michael's eyes closed, making a desperate last attempt to hide his feelings.

"I was so angry at him. I was harsh on him, like always." His voice was laden down with guilt and regret.

"He knew you loved him." Fiona whispered back comfortingly.

"He was just trying to help."

"I know. He did a brave thing."

The two of them laid together in silence for a moment. Fiona ran her fingertips over Michael's chest in an attempt to comfort him.

"You need to try and get some sleep." She cajoled him, her voice tender in a way that only he could bring.

Michael sighed, knowing she was right.

"I don't think I can." He murmured, almost ashamed at admitting his feelings. She was the only one he'd ever let himself seem vulnerable with.

Fiona's heart panged again. This man. Her beautiful Michael. She tugged him further down the bed as he rolled to his side. The two of them laid face-to-face, arms loosely around each other. Fiona tucked her head just under his chin, both taking comfort in his presence and trying to reassure him with hers. She ran her hand up and down his back slowly, trying to ease the tension from his body with her repetitive movements.

"Close your eyes Michael." She whispered.

Michael obliged, closing his eyes and focusing on only the feel of her hand on his back. He forced the thoughts of his little brother out of his mind, replacing them with the present, holding Fiona's body against his. He slowly felt his body succumbing to slumber.

"I'm really glad you're home, Fi." He murmured into her soft hair. _I can't do this without you_.

His unspoken words managed to make their way to Fiona, who pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

"Me too." She whispered back.

She continued to stroke his back as she laid her head against his heart, listening as he finally gave into unconsciousness.

A month later, there had been no news about the investigation into Nate's murder. Frustrated beyond belief, Michael had agreed to work a case for one of Sam's FBI buddies in exchange for the file on Nate's death. He was sorting through a box of jewellery that he kept on hand for use with his cover IDs when the sound of heels coming down the stairs alerted him to Fiona's approach.

"What do you think?" Her voice caused Michael to turn his head and look at her. She was dressed in quite a get up, a long jump suit with big heels, a leopard print bra peeking through, and makeup much heavier than she normally wore.

"It's my first Boston mobster." Fi explained, adopting a heavy accent. "I want to get it right." Her voice quickly returned to its normal sound without so much as a pause as she fussed with her hair.

"You look great," Michael told her, turning back to the pieces of jewellery. "But I still don't think you need to be front and centre on this."

"Last I checked, you needed a driver for this job, and since Sam can't do it-"

"There's other ways you can help." Michael interrupted her.

"So I can't get hurt." Fi supplied, using the excuse Michael had been spouting the last few weeks since her return home.

"I didn't say that." He argued.

"Yeah, you did. In fact, you've said it a couple of times now." She sighed, leaning against the bench.

"There's no need for you to take unnecessary risks." Michael turned to face her, hoping he could make her understand.

"Why don't you let me decide that?" Fi asked, her tone almost teasing in a way that was so familiar to him.

"If you're trying to prove how tough you are-"

"I'm not trying to prove anything." She said firmly.

"We still don't know what kind of situation we're walking in to." Michael's voice began to rise in volume.

Fiona stared at him incredulously. "When do we ever? When has that ever mattered?" She didn't understand where he was coming from; they did operations like this all the time. Yeah, they got injured sometimes. They'd all been shot a few too many times, but everything always worked out.

"Since Nate died!" Michael's voice filled the loft as he slammed his hands down onto the bench.

Silence fell over the pair as his words hung in the air. Michael closed his eyes briefly, trying to reign his emotions back in.

Fiona took a deep breath before speaking again, her voice softer. "Look, I know you feel responsible for what happened to Nate. You're not." Her voice pleaded with him to understand.

"He volunteered for that mission because he wanted to do something worthwhile, something good. Because that's who he was. Because he was a Westen." Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke of the man she had long considered as her brother in law. She took a moment to collect herself and steady her voice before continuing. "I'm gonna do this because it's who I am. It's because of who we are. And you can't change that. I'll wait for you outside." She turned quickly on her heel, exiting the loft and leaving Michael behind her.

Fiona made her way down the stairs, opening the door to her car and sitting down inside with a huff. She was so angry with him right now, but underneath her anger she reminded herself that he was grieving. His brother had been taken from him in such an awful way, and she knew he blamed himself. She and Claire had said horrible things to each other right before her death as well, so she understood why Michael felt the way he did. But she would not let him dictate what she could and could not do. This was all she wanted, to be by his side, working together. For things to go back to normal, or as normal as possible.

Maybe he was right. Maybe she was trying to prove something, to him and herself. She needed to prove she was the same person she'd always been, the tough Irish fireball with a love for weapons and explosives. She needed to prove that prison hadn't changed her, that she hadn't lost her edge. She understood his need to protect her; she felt the same way about him. It was what had landed her in prison, after all. That's why she could never let him go off on a job alone when she was able to help him. They were partners, in every sense of the word. It was what she was made to do.

About five minutes after she'd exited the loft, Michael made his way into the car. The two of them stared straight ahead, neither willing to make the first move towards contact. Fiona sighed internally, knowing that as stubborn as she was, she would have to give in today. Michael Westen was an expert at avoiding confrontation and communication, and they needed to get on with the job. As good as she was at demanding they handle a situation, now was not the time. As she moved to start the engine, his hand reached across the console to rest upon hers.

"I'm sorry."

His words surprised her, and her head shot around to meet his. Her eyes softened when they locked upon his, so full of concern.

"I know you think I'm going overboard Fi, but I can't let anything happen to you." His voice begged with her to understand.

She turned her hand over to squeeze his. "Michael, I know you're worried, but we've done things like this a million times. Nothing is going to happen."

"I didn't think anything was going to happen to Nate either."

Fiona's mouth opened slightly as she finally understood what Michael was trying to say. "Michael-"

"Someone killed him, right in front of me." His voice shook slightly as he recalled the horrific event. "I don't know who it was, but they are still out there. Anson should have been it, but we're still looking over our shoulders. I just got you back Fi, and if anything happened to you I'd never be able to live with myself."

Fiona had never seen Michael look so sincere, so much like the man she had met and fallen in love with in Ireland. If she'd ever had any doubts about how much he loved her, they were gone with one look at him in that moment.

"We have to do this Michael. We have to do this for Nate. I know you're scared, but I promise to be extra careful. We can't stop living our lives just because we're afraid. We have made it through so much, and we'll make it through this too." She reached across the gap between their seats to cup his face. "I'd never be able to live if something happened to you either. That's why I have to go with you."

Michael nodded silently, her words finally reaching him. They made him flash back to the moment she had blasted through the window back at the hotel, when they were under attack by Vaughn. How she had been prepared to die with him, rather than survive without him. Her actions that day had forever stuck with him, and now her words were reaffirming his belief. She had gone to prison to save him from himself, how could he ever question her feelings for him now? Fiona Glenanne was the strongest woman he'd ever known, and it was by some miracle that she chose to love and stand with him.

He brought his hand up to meet hers, pulling it away and bringing it towards his lips. He kissed her palm softly, trying to show her just how much she meant to him. By the look in her eyes, she understood him. They'd always been better with actions than words.

"Okay." He murmured. "Let's go."

Fiona brushed her thumb over his jawline before turning her attention to the car. Starting it up, she put the car into gear and began to drive towards their job. They would be okay, as long as they had each other.


End file.
